


the sweetest thing

by contraryrhythm



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, F/M, FitzSimmons Secret Santa, Fluff, masquerade au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 20:59:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5600638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contraryrhythm/pseuds/contraryrhythm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A masquerade ball brings Jemma and Fitz back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sweetest thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sciencebiatch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencebiatch/gifts).



> My Fitzsimmons Secret Santa gift for the lovely maoshield! Sorry there's not a *huge* emphasis on the masquerade aspect, but I tried my best hahah, hope you enjoy. And happy new year's! :D

Her dress is ruby red with gold accents, a sweeping wave of simple elegance. The bodice is closely fitted to her slim form, and the skirts cascade from her waistline like a silky cloud. Amber ringlets of hair fall over her bare shoulders and into her face, falling gracefully from a complex braided knot. The room seems to spin with her movements, and he thinks maybe the floor will never stand still again; she smiles, and he can hardly breathe. Her gold-studded mask conceals the top half of her face, but he recognized her in an instant because he knows her features like his own. She says something in conversation and reaches a hand back to tuck a ringlet behind her ear, and he wishes he could catch that hand and kiss it a dozen times. She is sunlight and spun sugar, at once dazzling and elusive and enthralling.

But if she’s the sweetest thing he’s ever seen, Fitz is a diabetic in a confectioner’s shop.

He tears his eyes away from her and grimaces at his plate of hors d’oeuvres. He can’t go to her now, not after the way they fought today. Ordinarily the two of them are so flawlessly in sync, but lately the cosmos has thrown so much in their way that the circumstances strain even their telepathy. And he can’t understand how she can be angry at him for trying to do the right thing—how is that fair? His pride won’t let him let it go. Even if she is the most gorgeous creature on the planet tonight.

He adjusts his black-trimmed mask irritably. Silly thing, really. It’s itchy and pointless. As if someone wouldn’t be able to recognize you just because there’s a piece of cloth and plastic perched on your nose. To prove his own point, he scans the room (purposefully avoiding a certain gold and crimson gown) and spots Coulson, in a ridiculous-looking spiky mask, and May, in a more restrained black dress, and Skye, who has predictably gone all-out with feathers and jingly bell bits all over her costume. She had tried enthusiastically to drag him into the dancing a few minutes ago, but he dug his heels in (like a stubborn donkey, she said) and told her he was in the middle of thinking out something important. She’d rolled her eyes, looked at Jemma meaningfully to tell him she knew exactly what he was thinking about, and left him alone for the time being. 

Masquerade balls aren’t really his sort of scene, but Jemma had asked so sweetly. He was supposed to be here with her. So why had he bothered to come at all? 

Fitz chances a glance at Jemma and immediately regrets it. She’s laughing now, and dancing with some guy he doesn’t recognize. He’s annoyingly handsome. And suave. And a good dancer. But that guy hadn’t been by Jemma’s side for years. That guy hadn’t dived through a hole in the universe for her. Jemma hadn’t kissed him. For a moment, Fitz feels better, until the thought occurs to him that Jemma could have kissed that guy, could have kissed many other guys. And almost certainly has. She’s gorgeous, why wouldn’t she have kissed other men? And maybe women too—who knows? She probably has scads of former beaus. His shoulders sag, and he returns to sulking.

He glares in the general direction of his still-full plate. Finger sandwiches and holiday cookies, neither of which he has the appetite to eat. He picks up a miniature gingerbread man, and a matching gingerbread woman, and makes them amble towards each other. “Oh, Will, how noble you are!” he says in the high voice of Gingerbread-Jemma. If her cookie arms could move, her hands would be clasped together. Gingerbread-Will hops close to her and leans in winningly. “Yes, Jemma, look how brave and perfect I am! And you are smart and beautiful.” Ginger-Jemma makes a coquettish gesture. “Oh Will, be with me! The combination of our DNA would be flawless.” Ginger-Will moves as if to kiss her.

Fitz makes a face and aggressively bites Will’s head off. “Take that, you hog face.” he mutters through the cookie in his mouth. It’s not a very good cookie, which is fitting. He tries eating the finger sandwich next, but it’s boring old turkey and can’t hold a candle to prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella. There’s not even any cheese in it, let alone pesto aioli. So he drops the sandwich and gives up on eating.

Instead, casting about for something to occupy him, he decides to evaluate the architecture of the ballroom. The vaulted ceilings are lovely, especially with lights and garlands draped below them, but he feels there’s something missing in the vastness of the space. Could use some balconies, or pillars. Jemma would say they’re superfluous, though. 

As he thinks of her, his gaze inevitably drifts back to her. She’s taken a break from dancing and is chatting animatedly with Skye, gesturing with the hand that isn’t holding a glass of champagne. As he watches, a young SHIELD agent in a purple reflective mask taps her on the shoulder and asks her to dance. She grins beneath the red-and-gold mask and accepts his proffered hand. Fitz’s gaze softens. She looks so happy, and she hasn’t been happy in too long. Even the whole Will mess was worth it if it got a smile on her little face.

Her skirts swirl around her as she dances, and he concurs with himself once again that she looks amazing in that dress. But honestly, the dress itself barely makes a difference. She’s radiant in a lab coat too; hell, she’d be radiant in a burlap sack. If he told her that, she’d probably just blush and say, “Oh, Fitz.” Jemma has no idea how amazing she is. And her cleverness—she’s saved him and the team on so many occasions. And her constant kindness. And the way it feels to hold her tightly in his arms, to kiss her… At this moment, he misses all of it. She’s the other half of him, and it feels wrong to keep himself away from her, even if they have argued. What has arguing ever been to them anyway? They’re best friends. Arguments always blow over. So why waste time? 

“Bloody hell,” Fitz says to himself, standing up abruptly. “Screw it.”

He straightens his shirt, buttons his coat, and strides towards the dance floor. Neither Jemma nor her dance partner notice him until he taps the SHIELD agent on the shoulder. The young man turns around, confused, but his eyes widen and then clear with understanding. Up close, Fitz vaguely recognizes him, even with the mask; he works in the lab sometimes. Wordlessly, the man grins and steps aside, transferring Jemma’s hand into Fitz’s. Her face is a mix of emotions that he can’t quite read, but there’s a definite smile there too, so he’ll take it.

Fitz steps in towards her, hand resting on her waist with the lightest of touches, and they start to dance. Their faces are close, close enough to make Fitz’s heart beat faster, but they’re still divided by an unfamiliar tension. They’re both avoiding eye contact like an electric fence.

“What’s his name again?” Fitz asks awkwardly. He jerks his head towards Jemma’s retreating former partner. “I can’t recall.”

“Jeffrey,” she supplies helpfully. Her tone turns chiding. “How can you not know his name? He’s been part of our lab team for weeks!”

“Look, you know I haven’t memorized the name of every single SHIELD agent on the base, not like you have,” he retorts indignantly. “And he’s got that ridiculous mask-y thing on, how was I supposed to know?”

She shakes her head, exasperated, and looks away. They lapse back into silence. The quiet stretches on a little too long.

“Look, about today—” Fitz starts.

“Fitz, I wanted to say—” Jemma says at the same time.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Fitz finishes.

“I’m sorry,” Jemma says. She raises her head to look him in the eye. “You deserve an apology for the way I treated you this afternoon. It wasn’t fair of me.”

He sighs, pulls her in a little closer so their torsos are warm against each other. He gazes down into her endless hazel eyes, framed by the accents of her mask, for a long moment. Then he drops a light kiss on her nose. “Don’t worry about it, love. We’ve had much worse fights than this. And I realized just now that it was stupid to dwell on it when I could be dancing with the woman I love instead.”

Her arms tighten around his neck as she smiles up at him. “Got tired of watching me dance with other agents, did you?”

His arms squeeze her waist lightly in response. He shakes his head, but in a good-humored way. “Well I was getting concerned, you shouldn’t be so close to strange men. What if they were Hydra, hmm?”

Her smile turns into a full-on grin, and she pulls him down to fit their lips together in a light, sweet kiss. “Nice try,” she whispers against his lips. He draws back just a few inches.

“You were having too much fun without me,” he pouts.

She laughs. “Fun? Fitz, I was staring at you half the time. The other half I was complaining to anyone who would listen that you wouldn’t talk to me.” Fitz’s brow furrows in thought.

“Really?” Had she really missed having him near as much as he had missed her? 

She nods emphatically, as if it’s obvious. “Oh and then there was Jeffrey, he couldn’t stop talking about how adorable and in sync we are together. Did you know the lab techs take pictures of us together sometimes? It’s a bit embarrassing, to be honest.”

That explained the small mysterious flashes in the lab that neither Fitz nor Jemma had been able to explain or pinpoint; but at that moment, Fitz didn’t particularly care. He was still replaying her earlier words.

“So you missed me?” His face has split into an irresistible grin.

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, Fitz. Yes, yes I did. Immeasurably.” She holds his gaze, and he feels like he could burst through the ceiling with happiness. Her voice drops to a whisper. “I was waiting for you, silly. It’s only ever you.”

Yes, he could definitely fly through the vaulted ceiling and soar into the stars and never come down.

“I love you,” he says, and his voice blends with hers as she says it a half-second ahead of him. Typical. They both laugh.

“Psychically linked,” Fitz whispers. Then he stops dancing for a moment, and cups her face in his hands. He brushes a thumb against her cheek, tracing the lower border of her mask. She smiles—absolutely dazzling. He tangles the fingers of one hand in the ringlets of hair at her neck, and tilts his head down to capture her lips in a deeper, longer kiss.

She is the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.


End file.
